Page 24
pile. “Any clue what I’m guarding you from?”
“Nope!”
I peered into the space between the crates. A broken bolt, stuck tight in a board. Blood-red shaft. The fletch was missing, but I bet it had three black feathers. My bowman had been here and had left his calling card.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Hunting.”
“Hunting what?”
I wandered to the ring of stones, crouched, and reached for the nearest rock. My fingers slipped through it. Whoever set this ward really didn’t want his hiding spot disturbed. But the trouble with wards was that sometimes they didn’t just hide. They also contained. And a ward of this caliber could contain something nasty. “Where are we?”
“What are you, retarded?”
I looked at her for a second. “I came through a tunnel from the Warren. I don’t know what neighborhood this is.”
“This is the Honeycomb Gap. Used to be Southside Park. It pulls metal to itself now. Gathers the iron from all over—Blair Village, Gilbert Heights, Plunket Town. Pulls it all into itself, the iron from all the factories, from the Ford Motor plant, cars from Joshua Junkyards…The Honeycomb’s right above us.
Can’t you smell the stink?”
The Honeycomb. Of all the hellholes, it had to be the Honeycomb.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
She stuck her nose in the air. “I don’t have to tell you.”
“Suit yourself.”
I pulled Slayer from its sheath.
“Whoa.” Julie crawled forward on top of the crate tower and flopped on her stomach so she could get a better look.
I put my hand on Slayer’s blade. Magic nipped at my skin, piercing my flesh with sharp little needles. I fed a little of my magic into the metal, aimed the tip of the saber toward the stone, and pushed. Two inches from the rock a force clutched at Slayer’s tip. Thin tendrils of pale vapor curled from the sword and the magicked steel began to perspire. I gave it a little more of my power. Slayer gained another half inch and stopped.
“I’m looking for my mom,” Julie said. “She didn’t come home on Friday. She is a witch. In a coven.”
Probably not a professional coven. The daughters of professional witches had more meat on their bones